Gilded Gold
by Today-Only-Happens-Once
Summary: When Ponyboy wakes up in the hospital, he doesn't remember why he is there, or anything that happened in the past two months. Worse, nobody will tell him. And when the gang starts acting weird around each other, Ponyboy decides its about time he finds out what happened before it tears everybody apart. Post-Novel. Please read and review! Permanent Hiatus. (So sorry!)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey all. I took this down and reposted it for a few reasons. One, it has been two years and as such, previous followers may or may not be interested any more. Secondly, I changed the first and second chapters both (only sort of for the first…but still) so keeping the old reviews seemed misguiding. Apologies if this upsets anyone.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders or any affiliated content.**

 **Summary: When Ponyboy wakes up in the hospital, he doesn't remember why he is there or anything that happened in the past two month. Worse, nobody will tell him. And when the gang starts acting strange around each other, Ponyboy decides it's about time he finds out what happened before it tears everybody apart.**

…

Gilded Gold

…

When I wake up, I notice two things.

The first is that there is a low, indistinct murmur of voices. I can't tell who they belong to or what they are saying, but my brain is too out of it to really try very hard anyway.

The second is that I am not in my own bed. I can tell without moving or opening my eyes that it's too stiff and too small. The air tastes like metal and smells faintly of antiseptic, making my nose itch. My hand twitches slightly.

"Ponyboy?" Somebody's hand fumbles with mine.

I recognize the voice, but I can't quite place it. I feel a little out of it, if you want to know the truth, and it takes me a bit before I can open my eyes. The first thing I see is Sodapop staring down at me, eyes bright with equal parts relief and concern.

"Hey," I say, my voice coming out scratchy and quiet.

"Hey." Soda tries to smile. He's in his DX shirt, loose strands of his wheat-gold hair falling into his face. He's got something dark—grease or oil—just under his left cheekbone and it somehow makes his dark eyes look even darker. The light is casting shadows across the room as well, which doesn't help my brother's pale complexion.

A deeper voice speaks up, but it doesn't catch me as off guard as it probably should. "How do you feel, kiddo?" I look past Sodapop's shoulder to see Darry standing in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall. My oldest brother looks cleaner than Sodapop, but no less worn.

"Um…" I blink a few times, trying without much success to clear my head. Soda frowns.

"It's okay," Darry says quickly. I give him a strange look, because the sudden rush of reassurance isn't like my oldest brother. Darry continues without noticing. "Doc said you might be a little foggy when you woke up."

I nod. Soda looks back at Darry, who returns the gaze and subtly shakes his head side to side.

"What?" I ask, looking between the two. They share another glance.

"It's nothing, Pone," Sodapop replies, but his eyes are doubtful.

I want to argue with him, but my disagreement is cut off by a yawn. "What time is it?" I ask instead.

"About three." Darry pushes himself off the wall and walks over to stand beside the bed on the opposite side of where Sodapop is sitting.

"In the morning?" I look up at my oldest brother, who leans against the wall again as if he's too exhausted to stand up on his own. He nods slowly, and I frown. "How long have I been here?"

"You've been here a few days, Pony," Darry says evasively. There is something off about his voice, but I can't place it as I feel myself slipping back into unconsciousness. Darry pushes my hair back.

"Go to sleep, kiddo," Sodapop says softly. "We'll be here when you wake up."

…

"Really?"

"Doc said it was possible."

"Maybe it's for the best, Soda. I mean, maybe it's better if he doesn't remember what happened."

"But Steve… if he doesn't remember, who's going to tell _us_ what happened? Two-Bit's sure as—,"

"Soda."

The conversation cuts out abruptly as I open my eyes, squinting momentarily against the glare of the lights above me. I am still in the hospital, but I feel more awake than I did the last time. I'm also hungry, despite the fact that my stomach is sore. I try to push myself up but there is suddenly a firm hand on my chest that gently pushes me back down.

"No so fast," Soda tells me. "How do you feel?"

"Good," I answer, smiling at him. Soda gives me a look that shows he doesn't believe me, but I ignore it. "When do I get to go home?"

Steve scoffs. "You've been awake for less than two minutes and already want to get out."

"Can you blame me?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow. The entire gang has always hated hospitals. We always have, and I'm pretty sure we always will.

Steve shrugs. "I'll give you that one, kid." He looks at Soda. "I'll go call Darry. He'll want to know."

"Thanks," Sodapop replies as Steve walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. My brother blows out a long breath before he turns to look at me. "How are you, _really_?"

"I'm fine, Sodapop."

Soda still looks doubtful, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he walks to stand by the window. It's not until the sunlight streaming in through the blinds hits his face that I realize how dark the circles under his eyes are. How pale he looks. He hasn't been getting enough sleep, and my stomach twists with guilt.

"Soda," I say, and he turns around immediately. "Go get some sleep. I'll be all right."

"I ain't leaving. Besides," Soda replies with a shrug, "I can't sleep much anyway." He tries to smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Why?" I ask, worried. "Something up?"

Soda gives me a sad look. "Pone… you don't remember anything?"

It doesn't occur to me until then that I hadn't really put much thought into _why_ I was in the hospital. I thought hard, but the last thing I could remember was Soda's birthday party.

"I remember your birthday party," I offer, but it sounds wrong somehow. I stare at the thin cotton sheet on the bed in concentration. "Something happen there?" I look up and stop when I see Soda's slightly pale expression.

"Ponyboy… that was two months ago," he says thickly.

"Two months?" I repeat, bewildered, racking my brain to remember something more recent, but there's nothing. "You're sure?"

Soda must be able to see the alarm in my eyes, because he rushes to the side of the hospital bed and starts rubbing circles in my back. He speaks in a low, soothing voice but it's not until he says that the doctor said this was possible that I actually hear what he is saying.

"And there's nothing they can do about it?" I ask.

Soda shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Pony."

Two months. _Two months_. Soda starts telling me to breathe. Telling me that it'll be fine. That I'll be okay.

I want to believe him.

…

I spend the next two days doing one of three things: losing games of poker, staring at the ceiling, or telling people that I feel fine despite my apparent concussion and the soreness in my stomach with a scar to show for it. By the end of the third day, I'm relatively certain that I've never been this bored before in my life. Steve, the only other person in the room because both of my brothers are at work, laughs when I explain this to him.

"Suck it up, kid," he says. "You've put your brothers through a lot recently. You can give them a few days to relax without having to worry about you."

"They do anyway," I point out. There's a beat of silence before I curse. "This doesn't make any sense. What _happened_ to me?"

"I've been sworn to secrecy," Steve replies, and for a brief second, seems apologetic.

"You know something, Steve?" I reply, scowling at the ceiling. "If I wasn't on strict orders from the doctor, Darry, and Soda to stay in this bed, I'd slug you right now."

"You may not be able to tell, but right now? I'm cowering in fear," Steve deadpans.

"You don't _get_ it," I groan. "Having everybody know what happened the past two months but _you_ is…it's…" I fumble to find the right word.

The sudden seriousness of Steve's voice catches me off guard. "It's better you don't know, Ponyboy. Trust me on this."

"I wouldn't trust you as far as I can throw you," I tell him half-heartedly.

Steve gives me a dry look. "Just do us a favor and don't go looking for trouble for a while."

"I never look for trouble, Steve," I reply as I watch him shuffle a deck of cards. "It finds me."

"Amen to that," he says, slamming the deck down in front of me. "Your deal."

…

"You're free to go as soon as your brother finishes signing the paperwork," Dr. Richards tells me the following morning with a smile.

I barely hear him, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. I'm beginning to realize how restless I feel and my hand twitches in anticipation of being let out of the stuffy hospital room. I can tell I'm not the only one: Sodapop and Darry have been here almost as much as I have. Darry reads all of the pages, but the speed with which he scribbles his signature at the bottom betrays his impatience. Soda paces across the room.

I'm still frustrated: not knowing what happened is killing me. The doctor told me about my injuries, but he said I'd be fine in a day or two aside from the scar. He added that, in hindsight, it wasn't all that bad.

So I don't know why nobody will tell me what I'm missing from the past two months.

"Where's Two-Bit?" I ask. I hadn't seen him at all in the past five days I'd been conscious. Soda stops suddenly and both he and Darry look at me. Soda looks sad and Darry looks furious, but neither expression stays long enough for me to actually tell anything from it. I dismiss it as I wait for my answer.

"He's workin'," Darry eventually replies.

"Two-Bit got a job?" I laugh, but I also feel annoyed. What else do I not remember?

Soda ignores my question. "Thanks, Doc," he tells the older man.

"Of course, Mr. Curtis," he replies with a kind smile. I decide then that I like Dr. Richards. His kindness and sincerity is something us greasers don't see too often from adults. "If anything comes up, you know how to reach me."

Darry stands up and hands him the clipboard before shaking his hand. "Hopefully we won't need to," Darry says.

The doctor laughs. "Indeed." He turns to me, and for a second I think he'll say something, but he just smiles and inclines his head. "Goodbye, Ponyboy." He leaves before I can reply.

Darry looks at me. "You ready, Pony?"

"Of course, Dar," I reply, jumping down from the hospital bed. The room suddenly tilts violently and I slam a hand down on the bed to keep myself from falling over. Both of my brothers are beside me instantly, Soda gripping my arm and Darry's hands hovering as if preparing to catch me.

"You okay?" Soda asks me. I blink hard and the room stops spinning. I nod and Soda reluctantly lets go, staying beside me in case I collapse.

I smile at my brothers in reassurance. I realize then that Steve is right about one thing: I've been making my brothers worry too much. "Let's go."

…

"There's no place like home," I tell myself as I get out of Darry's truck and look at the house. It looks the same as ever, and in this case, that's a good thing. Soda steps up next to me, nudging my shoulder.

"I'll race you inside," he tells me. I eye the short distance to the door.

"Sodapop, it's less than four yards."

"Ready…"

"Soda—,"

"Set…"

"I don't—,"

"Go!"

My brother starts running and I take off less than a second after him. Sodapop slows down going up the porch steps and I clear them in one leap, passing him as I sprint inside. He comes in after me, laughing breathlessly.

"Glory, Pone," Soda says. "Even when I cheat, I can't beat you." He's grinning.

"What's that tell you?" I reply, smirking even as I try to catch my breath and ignore the ache in my stomach that resulted from my leap up the steps.

Darry comes in, shaking his head in disbelief as he closes the door behind him. "That's just embarrassing, Soda."

Sodapop laughs again, sitting himself down on the couch. "Nah. If I was gonna lose to somebody, it was gonna be my kid brother. Pony here's a regular speed demon."

"Yet no fuzz has ever given me a speeding ticket," I answer. I've had my license for almost a year, having gotten it a few days after I turned sixteen.

Darry walks into the kitchen, opening up a cabinet. "Let's keep it that way, Pone," he calls lightheartedly.

I smile, but don't respond. I'm not willing to make that promise. Soda notices my lack of reply, and a reckless, mischievous glint alights in his dark eyes.

"You've got time."

I smile, but my reply is cut off when there's a knock at the door.

"Social services?" I guess. Soda heaves himself off the couch and shakes his head.

"They came by two weeks ago," he says uncertainly. "Dar?" he calls.

"Go ahead and answer it, Sodapop," Darry replies. "I'll be there in a sec."

Soda walks to the door and swings it open. It's Two-Bit. I smile before noticing that he seems uncomfortable, out of place. I look at Soda and freeze. His expression has darkened to the point that he seems dangerous. Almost Dallas Winston dangerous.

"H-hey, Sodapop," Two-Bit says.

I reply before my brother does. "Hey, Two-Bit."

Two-Bit's gaze zeroes in on mine and he suddenly looks relieved. "Glory hallelujah—,"

Soda cuts him off. There's an edge to his voice that confuses me. "Two-Bit."

Two-Bit's eyes suddenly turn almost pleading as he meets Soda's gaze. I go to step forward, step between them or at least be closer in case one of them does something stupid, but Darry is suddenly behind me, his hand on my shoulder to keep me in place. I look up at him, but his eyes are as dark as Soda's and he doesn't look back at me.

"I just want to make sure he's all right," Two-Bit tells Soda. Glances at Darry. "And…" his voice drops. "I'm sorry. You know I didn't know."

Sodapop's expression softens slightly but he shakes his head. "Just go. Please."

Two-Bit locks gazes with me again for a moment, but I'm so confused I don't know what my expression is. I can't tell what his is, either. Then he turns and walks away.

There's a very long stretch of silence after Soda closes the door before Darry's quiet voice breaks it. "I need your help in the kitchen, Soda. Pony…I need you to clean up your room."

I don't argue, but I also don't clean. I go to my room and flop down on the bed and look up at the ceiling. I try again to remember something since Soda's birthday, but nothing. Something big happened in the past two months. Something I should know, but I don't.

It doesn't matter, I decide. Because I'm going to find out.

…

 **A/N: So… what do you think? Please review! It's gonna be a bit of a wild ride.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Finally, the real chapter 2. Apologies for the wait. College life is very busy, and this chapter in particular kept giving me fits. And a terrific thank you to my friend who basically saved this initial disaster of a chapter. Hope you all enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own** _ **The Outsiders**_ **or any affiliated content.**

…

When I wake up the following morning, I'm surprised to see Sodapop asleep beside me. He's flat on his back, his mouth slightly open as he breathes, completely oblivious to the world. We haven't slept in the same bed in months, I think before realizing that maybe I'm wrong. I wonder briefly if maybe sleeping in the same room again was something that started within my memory lapse. The thought makes me uneasy.

Regardless, I don't want to wake Soda up. I quietly get out of bed and head into the kitchen, looking at the clock and then at my oldest brother, who is sitting at the table with the newspaper and a cup of coffee. Darry looks up immediately, setting the paper down when he sees me.

"Morning, Dar," I say before breaking off with a yawn.

"Morning, Pone. How'd you sleep?"

I grab a box of cereal and a bowl as I sit down across from him. "Good." I pause, then ask, "Why was Sodapop there? Like…when did that start again?"

Darry takes a sip of coffee before he answers. "Just last night." Darry leaves the cup hovering in front of his lips for a second, as if he's about to say more, but he just takes another swallow and sets the cup back down.

I look up at him as I pour the cereal into a bowl. "Why?"

He just offers a shrug. "I suppose he just wanted to."

I clench my jaw in frustration for a moment. I've been home less than twenty four hours and already the unspoken words and vague explanations are beginning to drive me insane. "Darry—,"

Darry sighs. "Pone, you being in the hospital scared him." His eyes tell me that I'm venturing onto thin ice, but I don't care.

"And yet you still won't tell me how I ended up there."

My brother keeps his voice calm and rational, but I see the way his hands tighten around the mug. There's something in his eyes too…not anger, but something else. It's gone before I can place it. "It don't matter anymore," Darry says.

I stay silent as I hear Sodapop come into the kitchen behind me. "Mornin', Pony. Mornin', Dar." His voice is upbeat and chipper and I wonder if he heard any of mine and Darry's conversation.

"Hey, Sodapop," I reply. I offer him the box of cereal, but Soda makes a face and grabs a skillet and the pack of bacon instead. He flips on the burner before turning around to face Darry and me.

"So!" Soda says brightly. "Watcha gonna do today, Pony? First day out of the hospital. I bet you wanna run a marathon or somethin'."

Darry glances up. "He just got out of the hospital yesterday, Soda."

"I'm gonna lose it if I don't do somethin'," I reply with a shrug. The second it's out of my mouth, I see the concern come into Darry's eyes, so I continue. "Maybe I'll just walk to the library. It ain't that far."

"It's far enough," Darry counters.

"Relax, Superman," Sodapop cuts in, coming up behind me and squeezing my shoulders. "I'll drop him off on the way to work. He could use it."

Darry looks at us but doesn't say anything, and I wonder if maybe Darry is the one that's scared.

…

When Soda drops me off at the library, he throws a hand out to stop me from closing the door. "Hey," he says, his eyes oddly serious when I look back at him. "Darry should be by to pick you up in an hour or so. Wait for him, ya hear?"

I wave him off and shoot him a smile. "I hear ya." He grins back and pulls the door closed. I take in a deep breath, the brisk air refreshing after spending so long inside the hospital walls. I flip up the collar of my jacket to brace against the cold before heading inside.

The smell of paper and ink makes me cough, and I see the librarian at the front desk shoot me a look before her eyes soften. "Ponyboy!" She beckons me over.

I've always liked Mrs. Brumsford. She's been the librarian for as long as I can remember, and she always seems excited to see me. I don't stop by too often anymore, but she still remembers me. I offer her a smile as I walk up to the desk. "Hello, Mrs. Brumsford."

"How are you doing? I heard you were in the hospital."

I nod a little. "Yes, ma'am. I'm getting better, though." I worry for a moment that she's about to ask me why I was in the hospital, but she doesn't. She just gives me a warm smile and looks at me over the top of her thick-framed glasses.

"Good to hear. When did you get released?"

I give her a sheepish smile. "Yesterday."

She raises her eyebrows at me in a way that suddenly reminds me of my mom. "Awfully soon to be out and about again."

"Needed some fresh air," I tell her with a shrug.

She shakes her head, but I catch the slight upturn of her lips. "You Curtis boys could never sit still for long, even when you were young and your dad would bring you here. That Sodapop of yours always ended up causing a fuss."

I chuckle at the memories. "Sorry," I tell her.

"No you ain't," she returns with a smile. "And I wouldn't want you to apologize anyway. It kept the place exciting for a few years." She looks down, writes something in the margins of a book, and then looks back up. "Is there anything I can help you find, Ponyboy?"

I glance around the library, then shake my head. "I'm just lookin', Mrs. Brumsford."

"Alright. You tell me if I can help."

I smile again. "Yes, ma'am."

I head over to one of the aisles and start browsing the shelves, occasionally pulling out a book to skim the first page. It doesn't take long before I'm not even paying attention to the books. My mind wanders back to yesterday but everything is disjointed, broken into pieces that I can't fit together. Nothing makes sense to me except for the fact that these shelves are filled with books. They feel familiar, even the books I haven't read, because I haven't forgotten this place.

But I can't shake the image of Two-Bit's wide eyes boring into mine and the dark look that crossed Sodapop's face when he answered the door. I remember Dr. Richards almost telling me something, and then deciding not to. Darry and Sodapop doing the same thing. Steve telling me that I've put both of them through a lot recently, but not telling me _what_.

I've wandered halfway across the library before I can't take it anymore. I need answers.

I grab the next book I see— _Grapes of Wrath_ by John Steinbeck—and I go to the front counter. Mrs. Brumsford tries to make more small talk as she checks out the book, and I reply with noncommittal shrugs. I glance over at the window and I see someone watching me. It's not any one I recognize, at least I don't think so. He doesn't say anything, just regards me quietly. He's tall, with an angular build that reminds me briefly of Dallas. It's the only thing about him that is like Dally; I can tell that as soon as his gaze meets mine. His eyes are a light gray and he's wearing jeans and a baseball cap pulled low over a flop of dark brown hair. He's only there a moment before he turns and walks away.

I shrug it off, thanking Mrs. Brumsford as she hands me the book. I leave library and start walking towards Two-Bit's house.

…

Nobody is home when I get there, and I feel surprised up until I remember that Two-Bit has a job now. My fingers twitch and I suddenly wish I had a cancer stick. I think briefly about walking back to the library, but the thought doesn't stay long. I need answers, and this is the only place I can get them.

Except that nobody is home, and I don't even know if Two-Bit would talk to me if he was. Everybody in the gang seems to hate him and nobody will tell me what he did or what happened to me.

I feel a little like I'm drowning and people keep throwing me unspoken words as if they're life preservers instead of anchors.

I look down at my hands. They're shaking, and I don't know why.

I think about drowning again and my lungs start filling up with something other than air. Maybe it's water, maybe I'm in the fountain again and suddenly I can feel Bob's hand on the back of my head forcing me down over and over again and I'm breathing in ice and water and there isn't enough _air._

I'm gasping and my lungs are collapsing and I close my eyes because I'm dying and I can feel tears pressing against my eyes.

There isn't enough air.

I'm suffocating. Drowning.

I'm shaking so bad I don't even notice I'm falling until my knees hit the ground. It makes the rest of the air whoosh out of my lungs and I gasp but there isn't any air for me to _inhale_.

I can't hear anything but roaring in my ears and my heart trying desperately to escape from my chest. It's hammering my ribs into pieces and it _hurts_.

 _I'm dying_ , I think again and a sob escapes me but I don't know how because I can't get enough air to talk, let alone cry. I don't understand what's happening to me but I wonder, perhaps deliriously, if Two-Bit is going to find me dead on his porch when he comes home.

 _Breathe, Ponyboy_. The voice in my head sounds an awful lot like Johnny, which confirms the idea that I'm dying, but I try to listen to it anyway. I want to tell Johnny that it's impossible to breathe when there's nothing for your lungs to _take in_ but I try anyway because I desperately want him to be right. Because if I can breathe, then my lungs aren't collapsing and I'm not dying.

So I test a breath. Then another, deeper. And a third. I keep counting my breaths, one by one. When my breath catches in my throat, I start over.

I start over a lot.

I don't know how long I'm like that, but it feels like it lasts hours. Eventually, I open my eyes and realize I'm still on my knees and my hands. I think about standing, but the thought makes my elbows shake again, so I settle for sitting. I press my back up against the front door. I feel something wet on my cheeks and brush the back of my hand across my eyes to dry them.

 _What was_ that _?_ I think over and over again, hoping that my mind will come up with something.

I hear the sound of a car pull up and I think maybe Two-Bit is home. When I look up, I realize I'm wrong. Darry cuts the ignition and jumps out of the truck. I can see the hard set to his jaw even from across the yard.

"Ponyboy Curtis," Darry says at not-quite-a-yell. He's angry, that's more than clear, and I wonder how long he waited for me at the library.

I cross my arms over my chest, hiding the fading shakiness in my hands before he sees it, and look up at him. "How'd you know where to find me?" I ask evenly. Darry keeps looking me over. "I'm fine," I snap, annoyed that everyone always seems to be worrying over me. And…maybe because I know they have a right to be.

Darry sighs, his jaw clenching for a moment. "Get in the truck, Ponyboy. We'll talk about this later."

I lean my head back against the front door. "How'd you know where I was?" I repeat, not making any move to get in the car.

"I stopped by the library and waited for half an hour before I realized you weren't there. It doesn't take a genius to figure out the rest. Glory, Ponyboy, you can't keep doing this."

"Doing what?" I shoot back.

"Runnin' off!" My brother rakes a hand through his hair.

I push myself to my feet. "I ain't a kid anymore, Darry." Darry's shoulders tense, but he doesn't reply. His eyes travels up to the house, then back at me.

I hold his gaze. "He ain't home," I tell him. Darry looks relieved, which just makes me angrier. "I'm gonna stay here 'til he is."

"No you ain't. Get in the truck, Ponyboy."

I curse, my eyes flashing. Darry looks back at me with just as much determination. "Why can't someone just tell me what's going on?"

"It's best—,"

"I swear to God, Darry," I cut him off, leaning against the porch railing and looking out across the street because I don't want to be looking at my brother right now. "Don't you tell me that it's 'best I don't know'. I'm so freakin' sick of hearin' that."

Darry sighs. "We're just lookin' out for you." The edge in his voice eases a bit, replaced with an uncharacteristic earnestness that I'd expect from Sodapop, but not my oldest brother.

"I can look out for myself," I argue.

There's a moment of silence, and then Darry abruptly changes the subject. "Were you cryin'?" The frustration in his voice has vanished. I glance at him, startled, and notice the iciness in his eyes is gone too.

"No," I lie, harsher than I really mean it to come out. A small part of me knows that I should tell him what happened, whatever is was that happened, but I'm too stubborn. If he won't tell me, then I won't tell him.

Darry's eyes narrow and I can tell he knows I lied, but for some reason, he doesn't call me on it. Instead, he sighs. "Ponyboy… You just got out of the hospital yesterday."

My brother leans against the railing next to me, and I can feel his eyes watching me carefully. He isn't angry anymore, and I feel the fight go out of me too. "Yeah." I swallow and nod. "Okay."

Darry closes his eyes for a minute, and he looks so tired I wonder if maybe he's just fallen asleep. But then he opens them and pushes himself off the railing.

The ride home is silent.

…

 **A/N: Reviews, pretty please!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Apologies again for the wait. You all must hate me. Blah, blah, blah, excuses, excuses.** **Hope you enjoy this, lovelies. And thank you for your patience. Life is very busy right now, and I don't want to give you guys anything less than the best I can. Also, I have a playlist for this fanfiction. If anyone is interested, let me know in a review or PM me and I'd be happy to send you a list of songs/artists that are on my list.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own any content affiliated with** _ **The Outsiders**_ **, just a deeply held love for them. Thank you again to my friend for her edits and feedback.**

 **Important note: I mention it subtly here, but in case someone misses it: this chapter picks up three days after the last one.**

…

"Sodapop is going to take you to your check-up today."

I look up from _The Grapes of Wrath_ and eye my oldest brother as he threads a belt through his jeans. "Okay," I tell him. "You going to work? It's a Sunday."

Darry just shrugs and grabs the keys off the table. "I missed a couple days, and we're behind schedule on the Greens' roof. Someone's gotta get it done."

I nod slowly. Ever since the incident at Two-Bit's house three days ago, things have been tense between Darry and me. I don't think either one of us knows how to fix it. "You gonna be home for dinner? It's Sodapop's night to cook."

My brother grabs his boots and shoves them onto his feet, tying the laces as he answers. "Should be, but no promises." He opens the front door, pausing to look at me. "Let me know what the doctor says, alright?"

I nod. "Sure, Dar."

Sodapop walks into the room just as Darry closes the door behind him. My nineteen year old brother flops himself down on the couch with a dramatic sigh. I chuckle.

"Something wrong, Sodapop?"

He shoots me a grin. "It's just you and me today. Let's do somethin' fun."

I can't help but grin back. "I've got a doctor's check-up today," I remind him.

Soda waves a hand. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. We'll do that too. But in the meantime…" He looks over at me. His eyes regard me quietly, but there's that spark of recklessness that I've come to know all too well. "You wanna go for a drive?"

I nod and close my book, tossing it to the side. "Let's go."

…

"Where exactly are we going?" I ask as Sodapop drives. We've been driving for almost half an hour. He rolls down the windows and I noticed the buildings and houses getting fewer and farther between. My brother has one hand on top of the steering wheel and the other hanging out the window.

My brother chuckles. "Got somewhere to be, kiddo?"

I shoot him a grin. "Just askin'."

Sodapop turns left onto a narrow strip of road, getting farther and farther from Tulsa. I'm reminded again how close the countryside is. How far away it feels when I'm home. It's only a few minutes before we're driving through open fields and beneath a bright blue sky. Sodapop doesn't reply to my question, just turns up the radio a bit when "Walk Like a Man" starts playing.

I lean my elbow out the window and rest my chin in the crook of it. I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the wind run its fingers through my hair. I stay that way until the song ends, and when I open my eyes I can see Sodapop glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

"You okay?" he asks, and this time the question doesn't annoy me.

"Best I've been since wakin' up in the hospital," I tell him honestly, leaning back into the seat. "Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Are you okay?"

Sodapop looks confused at the question. "Of course, kid."

"Sodapop…" I give him a look, but his eyes are focused on the road and I'm not sure if he catches it. I don't know what to say. A part of me wants to tell him that I saw how pale and exhausted he was every time he came to the hospital. Or that I noticed he wanted to sleep in my room with me the night I was released. Or that some nights I think I hear him up and walking around when Darry and I are asleep.

Soda cuts me off before I decide. "Honest, Pone. I am a-okay."

I don't believe him, but I let the subject drop. "Alright, Soda."

There's a moment of silence. The road in front of and behind us is completely empty, and I see my brother grin. "Ponyboy, you ready for some fun?"

I kinda grin a little myself, and nod. "Floor it."

Sodapop takes off. I watch the speedometer climb, pushing 80. My brother lets out a loud whoop of excitement and I can't help but laugh. The wind whips at my face harder but I don't care. The fields rip past us as we speed down the road and it feels liberating. Sodapop is still wild and reckless and some of the tightness in my chest loosens its vice-like grip.

It feels like we're racing the world; the road speeds beneath us and the sun is directly above us. I'm suddenly reminded of how much I've missed the country. Nothing matters out here. Right now, in this moment, the only thing that matters is Soda's foot on the gas pedal and his hands on the wheel and the road in front of us. Nothing else.

Sodapop slows down as he comes to a stop sign. He looks at me, his eyes the brightest I've seen them in a long time. His hair is a disheveled, windswept mess but for the first time, he looks like the brother I remember from two months ago. He doesn't look tense or worried: he just looks like Sodapop.

He opens his mouth to say something, but he looks at the clock and mutters a cure.

"What?" I ask. The grin has faded, but there's still hints of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"You're gonna be late to the doc's." The intersection is empty, so my brother turns the car around and speeds back towards Tulsa.

I shrug. "I don't care."

Sodapop shakes his head and reaches a hand over, ruffling up my hair before I manage to bat his hand away. "Sure, kid. But Darry and I do."

…

Thanks to Sodapop's speeding, we're only five minutes late when we pull into the parking lot of the hospital. When we get inside, Sodapop tells me to grab a seat while he gets me checked in. I notice the way my brother is eying the pretty brunette behind the counter and roll my eyes, taking a seat by the window and hearing the girl giggle at something Sodapop says.

A while later, my brother comes over and plops down beside me. I see him slip a piece of paper into his pocket, a small grin on his face. I elbow him and he laughs.

It's not too much later when a nurse steps out with a clipboard. "Ponyboy Curtis?"

"That's us," Soda says as we both stand. We follow the nurse through a series of hallways. The smell of sterilized needles and latex reminds me of the time I spent in the hospital after waking up, and I suddenly want to get out of here. The sense of freedom I'd gained when there was nothing but me, my brother, and the open road has rapidly vanished within the thin hallways.

"If you'll wait in here," the nurse says, opening a door and breaking into my thoughts. Sodapop and I file quietly into the room and she closes the door behind us. There's a long stretch of silence, and it feels uncomfortable.

Sodapop bounces his leg and fidgets. He keeps glancing at me like he has suddenly remembered something is wrong.

I sigh. "Sodapop, would ya quit?" The bouncing stops but the glances don't. I decide not to push it.

The doctor comes in a minute later, and I'm relieved to see that it's Dr. Richards. "Good afternoon, Ponyboy. Sodapop." He gives a kind smile.

Sodapop gives him grin in return. "Hey, doc."

Dr. Richards pulls the stethoscope off his neck and grabs a flashlight. "I'm going to shine a light in your eyes, Ponyboy. Just keep your eyes on me, okay?"

I nod, doing as he tells me. He continues to ask questions. "Any dizziness the past few days? Faintness? Headaches? Nausea? Anything like that?"

I hesitate, remembering what happened three days ago on Two-Bit's porch. Sodapop's eyes narrow and the doctor stops, looking worried. "No," I tell them. I can tell that Soda doesn't believe me, and even Dr. Richards remains skeptical.

Soda leans forward. "Pony, if something's goin' on, you gotta tell him."

I nod. "I know. But nothing. Honest."

Dr. Richards clears his throat, starting to press around on my stomach. "Any stomach pain?"

I think back to when I raced Sodapop inside. "A little. When it stretches too much. Nothin' too bad, though."

The doctor nods and writes something down on the sheet the nurse left. "That's expected." He pauses. "Any sleeping issues?"

"Not really," I tell him honestly.

He leans back against the counter, glancing at my brother. "Sodapop?"

Soda looks startled. "Yeah, Doc?"

"What about you? Any sleeping issues?"

Sodapop shoots him a deflective grin. It's the same one I've seen him use in poker when he's called out for cheating and is going to lie his way through it. "Been sleepin' like a baby."

Dr. Richards sighs, but doesn't push it any farther. "You seem to be doing well, Ponyboy. You can probably get off the prescription pain killers and just use aspirin now. But—and now this is important—," he gives me a pointed look, "you need to tell either me or your brothers if you feel any of the symptoms I listed. Headache, dizziness, nausea, anything out of the ordinary. Understand?"

I feel like a little kid again when I nod. "Yes, sir."

He stares at me a moment longer before finally nodding, then looking at my brother. "Well, he's all squared away. I'll have a nurse come in and give you one more form to fill out, and then you guys are free to go."

"Thanks," I tell him.

"You're quite welcome, Ponyboy," he replies before ducking out of the room and closing the door behind him. In the moment of silence that follows, Soda looks worried. I don't know if it's about me or something else, but before I can ask, the door opens again. A nurse comes in, giving both my brother and myself a warm smile. She hands the paper she has over to my brother, along with a pen.

"So you're the other brother," she says.

Sodapop and I both look up. "What?" he asks.

She looks at me. "You have two brothers, right? The dark haired one and…" she nods to Sodapop.

"You know Darry?" I reply, confused, and wondering if maybe Darry did a construction job for her or something.

The nurse tilts her head a little. "Of course. It's hard to forget. He's the one who carried you in, isn't he?" I see Sodapop's head shoot up, his eyes widening. He glances at me, but the nurse's words have my attention. She continues. "I remember because you were beaten somethin' awful, and he had blood on his hands, and he was hollering the yell of a desperate man—"

Sodapop cuts her off by suddenly standing up and handing her the filled out paper. "Here." Soda keeps glancing at me.

"Oh," she says, surprised, and she says something else that escapes my attention because my thoughts are reeling. _Darry brought me to the hospital?_ I'm not quite sure why the revelation has my thoughts stumbling over one another, but it feels a little like the ground has shifted underneath me.

I don't even realize the nurse has left until the door closes and Sodapop turns to me.

"Ponyboy…"

I look up at him. " _Darry_ brought me to the hospital?"

Wordlessly, my brother nods.

"And you knew. Darry knows. Whatever it was that landed me in the hospital, Darry was _there_."

"No," Soda says suddenly. "He wasn't there, kiddo. He found you. After."

"After _what_?" My eyes flash up at him. I'm angry. Angry at him and Darry for keeping this from me, angry that I can't remember.

Sodapop sighs. "I don't know too much myself, Pony. We got a phone call, Darry ran out, then eventually called me from the hospital."

I can tell that he's leaving something out. Maybe a lot of things. But it's still the most honest anyone has been with me about what happened. "Who was the phone call from?"

"I don't know."

I feel my gaze narrow, and Soda shifts uncomfortably. "Sodapop."

"Glory, kiddo." Something in my older brother's face looks earnest and pleading. And I know then that I can't push him. Soda's never pushed me, and I can't find it within myself to push him.

I shake my head, and walk out of the room.

…

 **A/n: Review, pretty please! Please, please, please.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: So sorry about the wait. High tension. Cliffhanger ahead. Another big thank you to my unofficial-official editor.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own** _ **The Outsiders**_ **or any affiliated content.**

…

Darry sighs when Sodapop tells him that the nurse revealed he was the one who brought me to the hospital. He runs a hand down his face and looks at me.

"Ponyboy…"

"You were _there_ , Darry. Why didn't you tell me?" I demand. Soda had driven slower going home after the doctor's appointment, probably hoping I would calm down before we got home. I didn't.

"I get that you're mad—," Darry begins, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. I scoff, but he continues. "It's not something you need to worry about." Soda glances up at me, but doesn't say anything.

I curse. "I'm sick an' tired of hearin' that, Darry. _I'm_ the one who almost died." I hear Sodapop take in a breath. "Don't I have a right to know what happened?"

"We're not talking about this right now, Ponyboy," my oldest brother replies. Both his voice and eyes are hard.

I'm silent for a moment. He doesn't _get it_. Neither of my brothers do. I'm missing two months of my life, but I'm not even asking them to tell me _everything_. I just want to understand why I can't remember any of it. It feels like they have something of mine—like they stole something from me—and I can't take it back from them.

Like they have a part of me that isn't theirs to own.

The weight of it all makes my eyes sting and I look at the floor and shake my head. "Forget it," I snap, turning away.

I hear Sodapop sigh as I walk back to my room. "Ponyboy…"

But he doesn't know what to say. Nobody does.

….

A little while later, Darry pokes his head into my room. I'm stretched out on the bed, trying to finish the last few pages of _The Grapes of Wrath_. I look up when he comes in, but I let my gaze drop back down to the book a second later.

"Sodapop and I are gonna run to the store for some milk. Need anything?"

I shake my head, still looking at the page in front of me.

Darry sighs, frustrated. "Think you could cut up some potatoes for dinner? It'd be a huge help for Soda."

"Yeah, alright," I relent. Darry nods before leaving, and I hear Sodapop call out a "we'll be back, Pone!" before the front door opens and closes. I finish reading to the end of the page before closing the book and setting it off to the side, pushing myself off the bed and walking into the kitchen. I find a knife and grab a potato out of the pot of water sitting on the counter.

I think back to the most recent memory I have before waking up in the hospital. I remember Sodapop's birthday party. How Steve had gotten Sodapop out of the house for the day so that Darry and I could set everything up. I remember Darry blowing up balloons and Two-Bit setting up the grill…

…

 _"Uh…Superman?" Two-Bit's voice called. I looked up from the egg salad I was mixing together in time to see Two-Bit frantically trying to put the lid on the grill. It was in flames. I jumped back and yelled for Darry._

 _Darry came running out shouting several curse words, taking the lid from Two-Bit and slammed it onto the grill, switching it off as well. "Glory, Two-Bit," Darry said, shaking his head. "When I told ya to fire up the grill, that ain't what I meant."_

 _Two-Bit offered him a cheeky smile. "Well, ya shoulda been clearer, Dar."_

 _I chuckled. "Hey, Two-Bit. Where'd your eyebrows go?"_

 _I laughed even harder as I saw his eyes grow wide and his hand flew up to his forehead. Two-Bit sighed in relief, then shot a mock glare. "You son of a…" He pulled me into a headlock._

 _I hooked an arm under Two-Bit's legs and pulled, effectively sending Two-Bit—and myself—sprawling onto the ground._

 _"Say Uncle!" Two-Bit yelled as we wrestled, both trying to get the upper hand._

 _"In your dreams," I responded, and in a few short minutes, had managed to pull out of Two-Bit's headlock. I grinned triumphantly._

 _Behind me, I could hear my oldest brother sigh in fond exasperation. "Alright, ease up. Sodapop's gonna be home soon."_

 _"Truce?" I asked Two-Bit, extending a hand to help him up. Two-Bit spit into his hand before shaking mine and hoisting himself up to his feet._

 _"Truce."_

 _Darry cocked an eyebrow at us. "Two-Bit, try the grill again, will ya? And this time, maybe not quite as much gasoline?"_

 _Two-Bit offered a mock salute. "Aye-aye, Cap'n."_

 _Darry set a plate of uncooked hamburgers on the table beside the grill and walked back into the house. Two-Bit leaned over to the radio on the table and turned the volume up, singing loudly and off-key to the song that was playing. I rolled my eyes._

 _I heard the sound of a car's backfire a few minutes later and was surprised at how suddenly still and quiet Two-Bit became. He froze for a second, looking paler and his eyes a little wider._

 _I frowned and elbowed him. "Hey. You okay?"_

 _Two-Bit blinked and nodded, shooting me a grin. "You bet, kiddo."_

…

A sharp pain snaps me out of my thoughts, and I hiss and mutter a curse. I drop the knife and grab a towel, pressing it to the cut I'd made on the heel of my hand. I hadn't really been paying much attention to what I was doing and the knife had slipped in my hands.

"Great," I mutter sarcastically, checking the towel only to see that my hand is still bleeding. I try to get a better look at how deep the cut is, but the blood starts to run down my arm and I press the towel back to my hand.

The coppery, metallic scent stings my nostrils and I turn my face into my shoulder, surprised at how strong it is. It makes me cough, and I can feel my hands starting to shake. Not just the one that's hurt, but both of them.

 _No_ , I think with a sudden jolt because I know that this is how it all started back at Two-Bit's and I don't want it to happen again. _Calm down calm down calm down_ ….

But it doesn't work because half of my stomach has crashed through the floor and the other half is lodged in my throat and I can't breathe past it.

 _Not again_ , I think desperately, pleadingly, but it's too late because there's something that won't let me breathe and nobody is here. It's just me and I'm bleeding out through my hand and I physically cannot get enough air because there's something in my throat. I'm dying again, but this time I'm _actually going to die_.

A part of me wonders if I'm going to hear Johnny again, and I don't know if I want to.

My bleeding hand doesn't even hurt anymore because all I can think about is how my heart is going to break a rib or just give out completely. _Am I having a heart attack?_ I think, and then I wonder when I dropped the towel I was holding because I can see drops of blood falling from my fingertips and hitting our kitchen floor.

I still can't breathe and something is squeezing the air out of my lungs with so much force it physically _hurts_ and I'm shaking so bad I don't understanding how I'm standing. It's a moment later when I realize I'm _not_. I'm on my knees but I don't know how I ended up here.

I try to force in a breath but all I get is copper and metal and _blood_ and I wonder if I'm drowning in it.

My vision blurs, darkening and fading around the edges, and I can't help the sob that rips its way up my throat with an almost violent force. But it comes out quietly and I think distantly about a poem I read in school once.

 _This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper_.

I'm crying and shaking and gasping even though there's no air for me to breathe and I still don't understand what's happening to me.

 _Pull yourself together, Curtis_. This time the voice in my head isn't Johnny. It's Dallas. I don't know why because Dally couldn't pull himself together the night Johnny died so it seems a little hypocritical. But then again, I wonder—perhaps irrationally—if that means Dally is speaking from experience.

I test a breath.

 _No air. Just blood._

I test another. I still can't find what it is I'm supposed to be able to breathe in, but I try again. And again, this time a little deeper. I keep doing that, counting my breaths like I did the last time, and eventually my breaths are shaky but deep and I found the air. I release soft, relieved breath.

 _I'm not dying._

"What the hell was that?"

The voice behind me makes me jump. When I look over my shoulder, Steve is standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

...

"Glory, quit squirming, kid."

Steve's holding my hand under the kitchen faucet, helping me rinse out the cut. It stings, but I stop moving and let Steve look at it.

"How deep is it?" I ask. Steve cocks an eyebrow at me, then shrugs and turns off the water.

"Ain't pretty, but ain't too bad." He grabs the Band-Aid off the counter and opens it with his teeth. He presses it onto the cut and drops my hand. "So what was that?" he asks.

"What was what?"

Steve shoots me a look. "You ain't _that_ thick, kid."

I sigh and shift uncomfortably. "It was nothing. How long did you…um…"

Steve walks across the kitchen and grabs a beer. "Long enough to know it wasn't nothin'," he answers as he pulls off the top. "Not long enough to know what." He takes a swallow.

I don't know what to tell him because I still don't know myself. I can still physically feel my heart against my ribcage but at least my hands aren't still shaking. I hope that counts for something.

"Let it drop, Steve. I'm fine." Steve is the last person I want to talk to right now. I turn to walk away, but his words stop me.

"So are you gonna tell your brothers why there's blood on your kitchen floor, or are you leavin' that up to me?"

I whirl around. "I cut my hand slicing potatoes. That's it." I take the towel off the counter and quickly wipe up the few drops that had fallen from my hand.

Steve cocks an eyebrow, but his eyes are serious. "That _ain't_ it. Fess up, kid."

I shake my head. "It's happened before. It's not a big deal." I see Steve's gaze narrow and I realize—too late—that I made a mistake. I hadn't meant to let that slip.

"How many times?" Steve asks, his voice low. I don't respond right away, and Steve swears. I cut off before he can say anything else.

"Just once."

"When?"

I don't say anything.

He sets the beer down on the table and—for the briefest moment—seems actually concerned. "Look, I know what I saw. And I ain't ever seen you like that. So spill it."

When I still don't say anything, Steve eyes flash in frustration before continuing. "Fine. Don't tell me. But you gotta tell someone."

I know he's right, but I don't want to hear it. Especially not from Steve. I walk out of the room, but I hear him call out behind me.

"If you don't tell Soda, I will."

The statement makes my stomach twist. If there's one thing I know about Steve Randle, it's that he doesn't issue empty threats.

….

Steve had finished slicing the potatoes for dinner, and surprisingly had kept his mouth shut when Darry asked me about the bandage on my hand. I told him I had cut my hand slicing potatoes, which wasn't technically a lie. I shot a look at Steve. _Not now._

If Darry or Soda suspected something was going on, they didn't say anything.

Dinner passes with brief moments of forced conversation. Darry talks about the roofing job they just started. Soda and Steve talk about a Corvette they're doing some work on. None of the conversations last long. There's too many words unspoken hanging in the air, leaving the spoken ones to painfully and carefully sift through them.

I can't take it. "Hey, Darry?"

Darry looks up, surprised. "Yeah?"

"I'm gonna go to the library. Return that book before it's due." Darry frowns, and I wonder if he knows it's not technically due for another two weeks. If he does, he doesn't say anything.

"You want a ride?"

I shake my head. "It ain't that far of a walk."

Darry glances at Sodapop and I can tell that neither of them like the idea. But the fight after the doctor's appointment is still fresh in all of our minds, and my oldest brother caves. Whether he feels bad about earlier or simply doesn't want to fight again tonight, I'm not sure.

"Take your switch, ya hear?" he adds as I get up from the table.

"Yeah," I reply. I go to my room, grab _The Grapes of Wrath_ and my switchblade off the desk, and then leave.

I hiss out a breath as the cold suddenly bites into my skin. It's brisker than I had thought, but it's not that far of a walk, so I don't bother going back in for a jacket. Instead, I head down the street towards the library.

The sun is starting to set, but there's still enough light out that the streetlamps haven't turned on yet. I tuck my head down against the wind and keep walking, not looking up again until I hear a door open right beside me.

"Sorry, kid," the man says as he stumbles into me and keeps walking. The scent of whiskey is rolling off him in waves, even as he staggers his way up the street. I look up at the window next to me, with the name _Ottavio's_ scrawled across it. It was a dimly lit, relatively quiet bar. It was about as classy of a place as you could find on the East Side, but still paled in comparison to most on the Soc side of town.

The roar of a Mustang engine breaks my attention, and I can see a green one slowing down as it gets closer. Too many of them have their eyes on me for comfort.

"Stop the car!" I hear one of them yell. I grip the switch blade a little tighter, but I know there's too many of them to fight off.

I push the door to Ottavio's open and duck inside. The Mustang speeds back up down the street, and I can hear the screams of "Grease!" as they drive by. I decide to wait a moment, knowing that they probably will circle the block and see if I come out so they can jump me. I grab a seat at the bar and decide to wait it out.

The door to the kitchen swings open as the bartender comes out. My eyes widen when I realize who it is.

"Two-Bit?"

…

 **A/N: Ta-dah. Please review.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: To all of you wonderful readers: I'm very sorry. You guys certainly deserve more frequent updates. I haven't forgotten about you all. Thanks for sticking with me this far.**

 **Please note: I want to formally apologize to pinksugarrush: the idea of Ponyboy having a panic attack in front of Steve was their idea! I used it with permission, but I meant to credit them with it in my previous author's note and forgot. Thank you for the idea and for letting me use it!**

 **Disclaimer: Any content affiliated with** _ **The Outsiders**_ **belongs to S.E Hinton, not to me.**

…

Two-Bit nearly drops the tray of glasses he's carrying when he hears me say his name. He just barely manages to keep them from sliding off and onto the floor. He sets the tray on the edge of the bar before turning to look at me.

"Ponyboy?"

I'm not sure who is more surprised between the two of us. I haven't seen Two-Bit in four days, but it feels like it's been four months. Two-Bit looks at me as if I have two heads.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, coming over and lowering his voice as a few people in the bar look over at me before returning to their own conversations.

I shake my head. "I could ask you the same thing. I just ducked in here to avoid some Socs. Decided to wait them out in case they circled back."

Two-Bit nods, then pulls out a rag and starts cleaning off the bar. It already looks clean to me, but I have the feeling that Two-Bit is looking for something to do. "How's the gang?" he asks, his gaze flickering up to me.

I don't know how to answer that question. "They're…um…they're good," I say, but I'm not sure if I believe it or not.

Two-Bit nods absently, looks at me at again, and then turns to the other bartender. "Hey, Rick. I'm gonna take a break."

Rick waves a hand in his general direction. "No worries, Matthews. I got ya covered." Two-Bit nods to a table in the corner, sliding around the bar. I follow, sliding into the seat across from him. Two-Bit stares at me for a long moment.

"Soda and Darry would kill ya if they knew you were here of all places, kid," he eventually says.

"They think I'm at the library," I reply, dismissing the concern. I lean forward. "Two-Bit. What are you doin' here?"

Two-Bit's brow furrows, his gaze narrowing. "Pone… I work here." The way he says it makes me realize that he doesn't know I'm missing memory. I don't want to tell him, and I tell myself it's because I don't want him to worry.

"Right," I say.

It's one word, but it's the wrong thing to say. "What's with you, kid? You've been here before."

I decide on a half-truth, and hope Two-Bit doesn't press. "Sorry. My memory has been a little rattled since waking up in the hospital."

"How rattled is 'rattled'?"

"Nothing too bad."

He stares at me for a moment, his eyes narrowing a little. I shift uncomfortably, but Two-Bit just sighs and leans back into the seat. "How ya doin', Ponyboy?" He says it with such seriousness that it catches me off guard.

"I'm good, Two-Bit. Sure am glad to see ya."

The corner of his mouth quirks, but it's quick to fade. "You can't lie to me, kid. How are you? Really."

I sigh, leaning my elbows forward on the table. I know I can't be straight with him: the second I am is the second Two-Bit shuts the door in my face just like the rest of the gang has been doing. "Past few days have been a little rough, but nothing I can't handle."

"Rough how?" Two-Bit's voice lowers just a little. Someone comes in the front door, and his head turns towards the sound. That's when I see it: he's got a fading bruise along his cheekbone and a small scar against his jaw.

I don't answer his question. When he looks back at me, I return with a question of my own. "You okay, Two-Bit?"

He shoots me a signature grin, but it's forced. Pained. The gray in his eyes is dulled and I suddenly feel like I don't recognize my friend anymore. "Shoot, kid," he replies. "I'm right as rain. But you didn't answer my question."

I shrug, pretending I don't notice the uncharacteristic worry piercing through his eyes. "Just the gang bein' overprotective."

Two-Bit leans back in his chair. He looks at me like he wants to say something, but he adverts his gaze down to the salt shaker sitting on the table between us. "That all?"

"Yeah," I lie. I don't tell him about the panic attacks or the memory loss. "Why?"

"Oh, I was just…" Two-Bit shakes his head, then looks back up at me. I can't remember the last time he ever looked at anything as closely as he was at me. I wondered if there were things he wanted to tell me and felt that he couldn't. Lately, that had been everyone I talked to. Two-Bit cleared his throat. "I mean, you haven't run into any trouble, have ya?"

"What kind of trouble?"

His gaze flickers quickly around the room. "I mean they've left you alone, right?"

"Who?"

Two-Bit's eyes lock onto mine, and I see realization dawn in his widening eyes. "You don't remember, do you?"

I suddenly wish I'd just kept my mouth shut. "Two-Bit-,"

"Ponyboy."

I sigh. I can't lie to him anymore. "No. I don't remember."

"How much?"

I hesitate. "Two months."

He doesn't say anything, leaning back in his chair in stunned silence. Two-Bit clears his throat. "I'm sorry, Pony. I should get back to work…"

He moves to stand up, and I let the words tumble out of my mouth before I think twice: "When you came to the house… Look, man, I'm sorry about Darry and Sodapop. They didn't mean it."

Two-Bit coughs, lowering himself back into the chair. "Yeah, they did. It's alright, Pone. I deserved it."

I hadn't been expecting that reply. "No, you didn't."

"They're just lookin' out for ya, kid."

"I don't need them to look out for me, Two-Bit."

"They're your brothers," Two-Bit tells me, almost defensively, and I stare at him. Two-Bit is the last person I ever expected to defend Darry and Sodapop right now. "After what happened—,"

"It doesn't matter," I snap at him, cutting him off. "I don't care what you did or didn't do. You're part of the gang, Two-Bit. We take up for one another."

I see his jaw clench for a minute, his eyes flashing and there's a suddenly razor sharp edge to his voice. "No, Ponyboy. It's different this time. I might as well have served you up on a silver platter and nearly killed you myself." He points a finger at me. "You don't take up for me. Not now; not ever again."

I'm not sure what to say. My head is spinning with confusion. After a moment, Two-Bit shakes his head and pushes his chair back from the table. "I should get back to work, and you should get home."

"Two-Bit-," I try, but he ignores me and goes into the kitchen.

…

I drop the book off at the library and walk to the payphone down the block. I thought about not bothering to call home. But as mad as I am at my brothers, I also know I've put them through a lot. I've made them worry probably more than I know, and I don't want them to have to come looking for me again. We've been fighting enough as it is anyway. Darry picks up on the third ring.

" _Hello?"_

"Hey, Dar."

" _Ponyboy. You okay?"_ Darry's concern is subtle and unmistakable.

I release a slow, tired sigh. "Yeah. I'm fine. Dropped my book off."

" _Good."_ There's a pause. " _Why are you callin', kiddo?"_

I lean against the glass wall of the payphone booth. "I think I'm gonna go see Johnny and Dal. Maybe Mom and Dad too. I just thought I should let you know."

Darry's voice is a little softer this time. " _Okay, Ponyboy. And…thanks. For callin' and lettin' us know. Don't stay out too late."_

"No problem, Dar." I hang up the phone and lean my head against the glass for a moment before pushing myself off and out of the booth.

The cemetery isn't exactly close, but the walk there is quiet. I flip up the collar of my jacket along the way, wondering about coldness its habit of muting the world around you. Everything seems quieter. I can hear Darry's voice in the back of my head telling me it's because the birds have flown elsewhere and the bugs have gone underground, but there's something else, too.

It's mostly empty when I get to the cemetery. There's one car in the parking lot, an Impala, and I see two men—both looking to be around Darry's age—standing at a plot. One is in a leather jacket, the other in a plaid shirt. They both nod at me solemnly, and I give them the same acknowledging nod in return.

I find Mom and Dad's first, but I don't stay there for long. I quietly say hello, but I find myself at a loss for words. I don't know what to tell them. I wondered briefly what Darry would talk about when he visited Mom and Dad. I knew Sodapop didn't come here very often, because I think cemeteries freaked him out a little. My brother was always so full of life, I think being around so much death scared him.

I go and find Johnny and Dally's a couple of minutes later. I stare at the headstones for a moment before I shove my hands in my pockets and dig my foot into the ground. "Hey guys. I know I haven't been around much."

I guess I didn't know that, technically. Memory loss was a weird thing sometimes.

I sigh and sit down between the two. The ground is cold and damp, but I barely notice. I pick at the dead grass and stare at the ground for a long moment. I didn't usually talk much when I came to visit. As I had tried to explain to Two-Bit a few times before… Johnny and I never needed to talk to get what the other was trying to say. And as for Dally… I was hoping he and Johnny were together. Maybe Johnny could help him understand.

I don't know how long I'm like that, but my vision suddenly is blurring and I wipe my eyes with the heel of my hand.

My voice chokes, but I decide I should say _something_. "Things are pretty screwed up, huh? I'm missin' two months of memory…" I confess, running a hand down my face. "Nobody will tell me anything. Half the time I think I'm losin' my mind. The other half I think Darry and Soda have lost theirs."

I take in a deep breath and even though I'm alone, I'm embarrassed at how much it shakes. I can almost hear Dallas calling me a pansy. The thought makes me laugh, but it's not quite enough to stop the tears.

I continue anyway. "Everything is a mess. Darry and Soda and Steve are all shunnin' Two-Bit. Two-Bit doesn't want me to stick up for him…Nobody wants to talk to me about anything that matters. I mean, golly, you two. We're fallin' apart. _I'm_ -." I cut myself off and shake my head, gritting my teeth against the tears.

"Glory, I don't know what to do."

I don't say anything else for a long time, just sitting there and listening to the silence around me for a moment. It's a different silence this time; not filled with unspoken words and regretted thoughts. It's just…silence. I stay there long after the tears eventually stop coming and my breathing steadies out.

The world darkens around me and I stand up, brush the dead grass off my jeans, and walk home.

…

 **A/N: I hope that was at least an adequate chapter. I know it was a bit short… but I feel like this is what this chapter needed to be. I'm so very sorry about the wait. You all mean so much to me.**


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